They call me a Spectre
by Monkeybandit2
Summary: The tale of a psionically gifted soldier and his life.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own, in any aspect that entitles dominion (not the Mengsk kind at least) of any variation, Naruto nor Starcraft.**

**Wish I did though...**

**Warning: Contains swearing.**

They call me a Spectre

Chapter 1: Groggy, to the front

_(Flashback!)_

Minus Five

His mind was all over the place and he knew it with lukewarm lucidity. He didn't care.

Why was a desert storage world named Minus Five? It was an odd name. Approximately only three settlements inhabited the planet outside of the pockets of garrisoned bases and armories, the number ranged closer to a hundred and twelve if they were all slumped together.

How long had he been in this abimination program for "the greater good" as they put it? Three years next month. He was the "shining example" of all model 'candidates.'

Bastards...

He came here with a full squad consisting of one firebat, three marines, and a medic. He knew them for two years after being 'inducted' for a full year. He was the best outcome of the program to date.

Bastards.

Sergeant Frankfurt Jones, firebat. He smoked a lot. Good guy all around but admitted psychopath when on the battlefield. The triplet soldiers, Privates Gorden, Jam, and Luis Huck. Jokers, hard to tell them apart even if branded. Corporal Denise Zimmer, medic. Loved poetry.

He knew them.

Then him. The star student.

BASTARDS!

The P-One-Eighty (P-180)pistol was jammed just under his jaw.

It was such a nice day as far as the weather was concerned.

He pulled the trigger.

_(End Flashback!)_

XVX

Hyperion

"Hey! The commander wants to talk to ya!" bellowed a man in yellow overalls that obscured a working man's white shirt, the former of which was partially cloaked from view by an apparatus of unknown function, with nothing else on his person, outside of shoes, but a matching yellow hat and earphones bearing the same color. He stood in the narrow hallway of the ship using nothing more than a bare hand to pound the only portal barring him passage from the one he was yelling at too which had yet to answer his calls, and 'rapping,' for the past two minutes.

Two wasted minutes in his opinion. He was on break, and those two minutes could've been spent navigating the ever familiar paths to the cantina.

Snapping his hand away, he drew a heavy, annoyed sigh and whipped out a wrench from a hidden pocket inside his overalls and prepared to strike. He swung halfway through with what half committed might he could muster when the door swung open, and he failed to hold back the cringe as he was met with the glare of a modern day Ghost in full uniform that stood close to a foot shorter than him. At least he thought the ghost was glaring at him as he stared him down with the odd design of goggles that made up the Ghost's helmet consisting of one large bright green lens that dominated his right eye and the twin jade dots that made up his left.

The two just stared at each other in, possibly, heated silence before the latter departed silently to the engineer's right, toward the bridge.

The former only rolled his eyes and snorted in derision before he went his own way towards liquid salvation.

XVX

Bridge

Whether it was an atypical in design or not, the Ghost arrived on the split level bridge consisting of all its navigational equipment on a raised platform, communication panel wedged against the wall of the raised platform, and a table that acted as a holographic map and display panel be it on the panel or a holographic panel that had been known to appear nowhere by some provocation. The navigation crew, and the occasional engineer, came and went with objectives objectives spoken or self appointed leaving but three figures to be differentiated by not only clothes but in disposition as well. Two if the latest newcomer to the room was to be ignored.

Both were at the holo-table: one man was a man to which the entire Dominion sector knew as either a hero or villain much like the man he had be campaigning against since the rise of the Dominion itself, the latter of which having take great lengths to not only destroy possible threats but to conceal his both past and present misdeeds of grave enormity. Jim Raynor, commander of the Freedom Fighter/Mercenary group that utilized his own name in its title. Age thirty-four and counting, and the years have long since left their mark on him with experience only heightening them in the form of wrinkles and partially groomed appearance. The beard, though remaining brown in original color, that became a permanent asset to him for the past few years with only a few gray whiskers only served to testify to this claim. His clothes held the same quality with few, if ever, frayed on some of the edges of a leather harness guarding both the rebel alongside dirtied white shirt, and the blue jean pants partially were consumed by knee high boots with minor armored stitching. Tattoos of dead zerg snaked along an arm that reached all the way to the glove covering his hand, one of a pair with the other on an otherwise unmarred arm.

The only other man observing the images belonging to the holo-table was dressed much like a captain of the ship, sans a hat of course, and was groomed accordingly with short buzz cut black hair without the company of facial hair. His clothing, while formal and befitting of a ship captain, was gilded with some gold garnishing in the form of trimmings. He was Matt Horner, second in command of Raynor's Raiders and the captain of the group's one and only flagship that doubled as their home and base of operations.

The former of the two was too engrossed in whatever had interested him, his attention only wrenched away when the latter had taken notice and remarked to the commander of the Ghost's arrival. "Hey kid," the gruff man acknowledged before returning to the map beneath him. The Ghost on his own accord sauntered up to the table and peered down without needing an invitation to do so, experience between the trio was enough to learn what didn't need to be said. Even if it was the slight tensing of a fist that was shielded from the eye.

"Yeah, sorry about this. I know you hate deserts and the like, but unfortunately it seems the Dominion have shielded the planet from scans and the like. In other words we're going in blind and I need eyes on the ground as soon as we get planet-side. Are you in...?" The commander turned to level a stern stare at the still figure as he seemed to mull over what was said... followed shortly with his abrupt departure from the bridge.

"Think he'll help out this time?"

Jim flicked his second a glance before returning to the map before him. "Only one way to find out..." he replied wearily as he turned to leave. "I'm going to gear up, have the guys meet me in hanger two."

The melancholy mood that collected itself upon the captain of the ship evaporated the second the bulkhead opened and closed for a second time within moments, during which he turned to the navigation crew. "Prep a drop ship in hanger two, standard deployment. Prepare cargo for orbital drop the minute green light is given."

"Yes sir!"

XVX

Access Hatch

The Ghost stared at the standard sliding doorway that held promise of a new room on the other end...

Well not necessarily new to him nor anyone else of the Behemoth-class battlecruiser unless new recruits were counted. His fist tightened as an unspoken decision commanded his body through the portal with shaky success.

"Hey brat," grunted a portly man in a dirtied orange jumpsuit, possibly even yellow at some point in time, whose features consisted of dark brown hair, exceptionally thick mustache that virtually ate his upper lip and proceeded to dominate his face in a handlebar fashion, and a missing left arm replaced with a mechanical arm, starting roughly around his elbow, that ended in a hydraulic clamp for a hand. Rory Swann, Chief Engineer of the Hyperion, appreciator of all things mechanical in nature with few blaring exceptions, and tinkerer of new or preexisting gear. Also known to have developed a sixth sense towards people coming and going from his armory, though this may have something to do with him almost always lurking on the raised platform that was the main access point for terran sized visitors.

The Ghost nodded towards the stout man, roughly his own height save for being an inch or so taller, as he strolled by with forced purpose. "Oh you're in a mood, bad dream again?" The Ghost didn't respond as he crept to an unassuming weapon's crate and opened it silently.

"Rory, you there?" The engineer turned towards a console situated against the railing and jammed a sausage of a finger on one of the buttons. "Yeah I'm here," he gruffly replied.

"Thought so, seems we need Stetmann to work on the transmitters again."

The engineer scoffed in derision. "I'll do it, you let that egghead do whatever he does in that lab of his and you leave the ship to me."

"Right. Jim's heading planet-side and we're going to need a-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it," the stout man replied before his brow furrowed. "Hey, what planet are we hovering over again?" he asked as he looked over his shoulder to find himself alone on his perch.

"Mar Sara, why do you-... Let me guess-"

"Yep. Tell the kid not push himself if you can... and not to use his C-Ten as a club this time! Those things may be durable but they aren't meant for that kind of abuse!"

"Will do, Horner out."

The engineer sighed as he rubbed his eyes with his good hand.

"Doesn't talk much does he?" The chief turned towards an approaching engineer, a woman whose hair had been tucked away by the hat that seemed to be customary for most of his engineers to wear while she cleaned her hands with a rag.

"So what's his story if you don't mind me asking? All I know about him is that he lives here."

The man grunted as he turned to his console for reference notes on his latest order without a word spared. "I'm going to assume you're new here," he finally replied after a small bout of silence.

"Two months tomorrow," she cheerily interjected.

"Right... New. That kid's been on this puppy just as long as boss and the captain have. He pretty much keeps to himself most of the time. He downright clams up when something upsets him though that it takes a direct attack on a base or whatever group he's with to break his silence," he muttered as he made a few adjustments.

"What exactly could get him upset?"

"Meh..." he grunted. "Really only two things, bad dreams and deserts."

"Pardon?"

"Bad memories. Can't say what haunts him though."

"I thought ghosts were invincible to those sort of things."

The shorter man snorted once more in derision. "And people didn't think the Confederacy would fall, yet it happened."

The woman frowned as she peered over to review the list of items and plans her superior was assembling; a nervous grin crossed her face as said superior slowly turned to give her an annoyed one eye glare when her presence breached his personal space. She straightened herself up and back away with a nervous laugh while the latter returned to his work.

"So uh-..."

"Look, there's only two things I know about him is that he hates Mengsk with a passion and deserts put in a foul mood that makes pissed off zerglings look almost friendly. The more sandy the place is, the moodier he gets. Considering Mar Sara is mostly rock however, he's probably just going to be difficult at best."

"Uh... then why would the commander-" she started to say, only to be cut off.

"I don't think he was ordered to," he interjected as he gave his latest incarnation of a list a critical eye.

"Then why would he go if it's just going to irk him?"

The engineer paused as he considered the answer with a mindful scowl. "The only answer," he starts, "that makes sense to me is therapy."

It was the other engineer's turn to frown. "Come again?"

"Yeah... you know those 'therapy' techniques saying that you have to confront your problem to diminish it or something like that? I'm thinking that he's thinking along the same idea with whatever pisses him off about deserts."

"I guess that makes sense..." she mused.

"Good, now get back to work! We got an order to fill!"

"But I'm on break!"

"Bah!"

XVX

Hanger Bay Two

"Nice of you to join us!" The Ghost paid no heed to Raynor, geared in his custom painted marine armor, as he all but stormed the ramp to the Special Ops dropship, a custom made ship following the Medivac design with two extra engines and a longer but sleeker wingspan. He was the last one to join in a party of what was originally six. He removed his rifle from his back and began to check it for imperfections the moment he sat down in one of the seats.

"Matt, everyone's onboard and we're ready to go."

"Copy that, just got to wait for the hanger to be cleared."

With a smirk, the commander turned to the squad with alleviated spirits. "We ready to rock?" he questioned loudly.

The responses were what he expected.

"YEAH!"

"Let's do this!"

"Let's just go already!"

The slamming of a fresh magazine into a C-Ten was the only audible response from the only ghost of the group.

**A/N: Oddly enough, this story was formed the second I watched the ending of the Heart of the Swarm campaign of StarCraft 2 rather than playing through the original campaign of SC 2. Also thought to expand the crossover section while I'm at it too.**

**_Spoiler:_ This story runs along the first campaign in terms of a timeline, though I will try to keep what I can interesting if you guys will bear with me.**

**Once again, like other stories I have written, I leave you with a warning that this story will not be regularly updated. In other words this may take weeks to months before it is ever updated by sheer whim.**

**Before you ask about the Naruto-verse in any way shape or form, all I ask is that you let me get to that point.**

**Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds!**

**P.S. Cowardly flamers using guest review, I bid you DBB! If you're not familiar with DBB, then you obviously do not watch Big Bang Theory enough.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own, in any aspect that entitles dominion (not the Mengsk kind at least) of any variation, Naruto nor Starcraft.**

**Wish I did though...**

**Warning: Contains swearing.**

They call me a Spectre

Chapter 2: Working with Tychus Findlay

_(Flashback!)_

Barrack Bunker: Growler, Mina de oro

A mining world rich in underground minerals and gasses, yet nothing came without some form of price. The air was as friendly as acrid smoke when left on its own though not lethal to a healthy set of lungs, natural predators that made rabid grizzly bears of the Terran's ancient home of old look like house pets through temperament alone, and ghost stories always born from miners working too long that no one has been able to disprove.

Not even the Ghosts when someone complained enough to have a team investigate the matter.

Yet the greatest danger at any given time were the predators of Mina: giant scorpions with shells as hard as the rock, spiders that dripped acidic ooze when on the attack, and the equivalent of wasps with replaceable projectile stingers just to name but a few. Interfectorem Bestiæ(*) Company, the Confederate answer to animalistic problems that range from simple critter kills with a sledgehammer to calling in the tanks for worlds such as Mina; who decided the name and how it got passed remained a mystery to all. The only times this specialized unit had ever been known to engaged human, or otherwise, combatants when either the animals they face have a means of, for lack of a better word, mind control or on par with a sacred and/or endangered species by the community or in all likelihood the Protoss and are guarded as such.

Surprisingly, few ever volunteered to join these brand of soldiers. Himself included, though out of ignorance rather than choice.

"Hm? Who's the kid?" The blue eyed, dark skinned man mindlessly adjusted the lit cigar entrapped in his lips with the ease of years of practice as he curiously eyed the silent kid barely reaching past the waist of a Confederate officer dressed in the gear of a Ghost, jade tri-lens mask and all, with a C-Ten strapped to his back. He, the smoker, was a bald man though by shaven means as a new crop of black hair started to emerge. He was clean shaven, and had a body built as a soldier with dedication to a regular regime of exercising and weight lifting. His clothing however held not the same care as his sleeveless shirt held many a sweat stain, some even fresh, and his pants, though commonplace of the infantry of the Confederacy, were frayed along the edges and torn in some places. In all fairness, they could've stumbled upon him just as he was returning from his daily regime which would help explain the smell.

The officer, in contrast, was typical as far the military was concerned. Properly groomed, clean shaven, clothes that looked fresh from the cleaners, and boots that shined brilliantly enough to blind passing space freighters if someone used a strong enough light; chances were he got his position from a relative in the military or at the very least he only knew the text book definition of combat.

If there was any telling as to how he got or position, or at minimum his actual military experience, it was given with the scrunched up nose and scowl that could only be mistaken as an offense to his nose brought on only by the sweaty, cigar smoking man in front of him.

"You're new squad mate, Sergeant," the officer tersely responded before turning on his heel and marched out with no care of the attention he earned.

"Ass," the sergeant muttered before turning to the kid to give him another look-over before becoming satisfied with whatever query he had as marked with a broad smile.

"Well kid, welcome to Zeta squad!" he announced, and with startling speed managed to take one step forward to lean down to a degree and slap a hand on the Ghost's shoulder in one fluid action. He didn't even await some kind of reply, retort, or otherwise as he dragged the kid through the corridors of the specialized bunker long before the latter could form some kind of objection to it.

"Frankly when I heard we were getting a new guy here, I was expecting someone a lot older than you ya know? How old are you anyway?"

At last, a sound escaped the young Ghost... unfortunately it wasn't even a fraction of eloquent. "Uh-"

"Ah never mind. Curious though, experimental Ghost program?"

"Huh?"

"The only thing I can think of to send a kid out in the field... granted, the Interfect company doesn't do a lot of front line stuff but we do kill things-"

"YOU BASTARD!"

"EN GARDE!"

"BRING IT ON!"

To anyone else, namely the Ghost, it actually sounded like one person was having an argument with himself and had a scuffle with said self through an open doorway of the underground structure.

"Prepare to meet your first squad shrimp," the man grumbled as he abandoned the diminutive Ghost and stormed through the door in a heartbeat. It took only the length of ten seconds to effectively break up whatever fight that had broken out in the room. It wasn't without complaint however.

"Oh dear god! The smell!"

"The deodorant, it does nothing!"

"Take a bath, boss! For the sake of all that is holy, take a bath!"

"Shud up ya idiots!"

The Ghost crept up to the portal and silently peered past the steel frame to peek on the happenings of the room: The sergeant had three identical men captive under each arm, two under one and a single one trapped by the spare respectively. Though they were struggling, even in the midst of being forcefully turned around without a jolt to either side, the Ghost was able to capture the details of the men even if it was redundant when dealing with triplets or twins in general: Shaggy brown hair, hazel eyes, tapered noses, and dressed in the more casual wear of soldiers not expecting active duty anytime soon be it war or patrol. Off to the side stood a woman shaking her head as she tugged along a cart laden with tools and cables.

The woman stopped upon noticing a glint of something white coming from the doorway and turned to take in what features she could from their unexpected guest. The woman herself was tanned with bronzed skin. She too wore the regalia of the soldier not on duty, yet she shirt was short sleeved and held a medic's cross on both sleeve. Her hair was of a dark mahogany that only seemed to serve to enhance the near brilliant hazel eyes that seemed to have a topaz quality to them in the light.

"Right, if you guys are done _complainin'_!" the sergeant gave a hurtful squeeze on his captives who yelped in agony, all the while eliciting the attention of the only woman in the room. "Then it's time we met our newest squad member!" he announced as he managed to jerk the trio's heads to gaze on the half hidden Ghost at the doorway.

"Damn he's short."

"Did he bribe a recruiter to get here?"

"Bet he won't last a week here."

A mere flex painfully silenced the triplets, much to the sergeant's pleasure of course.

"Right, sound off shrimp!" he commanded as he threatened the trio with more pain with the tightening of his grip on them.

The Ghost reluctantly left the cover of his spot and gave off a salute in the same fashion. "I-"

_(End Flashback!)_

XVX

Mar Sara

_BUMP! SCREECH!_

That would teach him to drift off while riding a... 'borrowed' Vulture in the heat of a chase. His grip at the back handle that made up a part of the backseat belonging to the one and only _recognized_ seat of the vehicle was as sturdy as ever even in a lapse of judgment, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of being tossed off if whatever occurred had happened again.

"Heh, thought you were a goner there kid!" The Ghost narrowed his eyes under the mask but did nothing regarding the snarky attitude underlining the comment aimed at him.

But less than twenty minutes ago a railroad station that the Dominion confiscated as an evacuation point for nearby surveillance outposts within radio contact of a excavation site, both of which (excavation and railroad station) have been ransacked by the Raiders. Now what was left of the Dominion as far as the region went was escaping by train with a small escort of four Hellions guarding the sides.

There were only two reasons that it was now being pursued by the Raiders, even if it was only a token force of two with every other means of transportation wasn't either fast enough nor big enough for those that worn the Hardskins (Power armor of the Marines): One, to ensure the Raiders had the element of surprise on their side despite the world wide jamming of Dominion communications using their own equipment; the Dominion's presence, though small in relative number on the planet of Mar Sara, could still turn the tide on the newfound planetary rebellion starting in liberated zones. And two, the fleeing Dominion personnel took hostages onboard with them to help ensure their escape from the station.

So with the only vehicle they could find on short notice by Raynor's heated request, the duo took off in hot pursuit despite the inherent risks of an armored marine and a ghost riding what was meant to be a one, light passenger vehicle...

It would've been much more convenient, if not nicer, if it wasn't deprived of the fearsome fangs that was the grenade launchers to begin with as they rudely found out when a stray Hellion snuck up on them, only to be taken down with the combined efforts of expert driving and sharpshooting. Same could be said for the company the Ghost had for this mission was someone familiar to him...

"You don't talk much do ya kid?" Tychus Findlay was not familiar to him by any means.

If Tychus took offense or heard the grunt from his only companion in this then he didn't give it as he drew closer to the very back of the mag-lev train, a hovering train that ran along a magnetized rail road at speeds dependant on both size and cargo. A pair of hellions broke off from their moving stations and moved to engage the 'bikers,' during which the backdoor of the equivalent of a caboose opened for a trio of Dominion marines to dominate the balcony with their guess rifles primed.

"Oh that's just lovely..." Tychus rumbled as he veered to the right to avoid the first volley of gunfire, only to be chased by the marines while his riding partner busied himself with a rifle attachment. The convict swaggered behind one of the hellion escorts and stayed at a comfortable pace behind it even as its pilot swerved his vehicles flame hurling turret to face them. Its flames, used despite regulations regarding driving armed vehicles, missed from fractions to several feet in seconds flat when the vulture came to a sudden stop and let its nemesis gain the distance before Tychus gunned it. The surprise, both ends of it, was enough to startle the driver into a full skidding stop and let the duo pass with a parting gift of two grenades tied together in a bola fashion.

The Ghost prepped his own aim at the other hellion that tried to close the distance between them, undisturbed by the combination another swerve by the armored vulture driver as he evaded another volley from the marines and the previous hellion driver's early 'retirement.' From the attachment made moments ago, a miniature missile screamed out of what appeared to be a grenade launcher. It took a full second for the projectile to hit its target and shock the vehicle with an EMP (Electro Magnetic Pulse) upon impact, forcing the second hellion to back off at least for a time as the driver was left to deal with the repercussions of the blast.

Now all that was left was the marines... with only a C-Ten rifle... and no fragmentation grenade launchers...

Beats trying to kill a Hydralisk with a pair of dinner knives by a mile and a half.

The visor of a marine failed to save him from a well placed round and sequentially crumpled into a motionless heap; a fairly impressed whistle escaped Tychus despite the chase.

The remaining marines spread themselves out without letting their weapons rest with a newfound vigor that managed to nick at the front hood of the hovering bike, thus forcing a more savage veering of the vehicle in question; another shot rang out above the collective din of rushing air, gunfire, and the roar of the engine.

A psionically enhanced bullet ripped through armor and flesh alike, and another marine was downed though still alive as he dropped to nurse a shocking injury sitting beneath his knee. The only other marine stopped firing to glance over to learn of the sudden ceasefire of his companion till he jerked back to action to correct his lapse of judgment.

He was too late to close that window of opportunity.

Bullet upon bullet ripped into the marine with disturbing ease much to the terror of the downed marine, (un)fortunately it was only a passing terror when it came to his turn.

"Ha! If it wasn't for that academy and psychic business then I'd reckin' I'd be a little jealous about that," Tychus remarked as he caught up with the train once more. "Now how are we goin' to do this?" he mused aloud as his brain wracked itself to find a way to get himself off that bike and on that train. Granted, he had a Ghost, the modern day stealth force commando, with him who could in all likelihood do this mission by himself... but where was the fun in that?

A sharp slap to his shoulder brought the 'marine' out of his thoughts while he turned to the assaulted side to the best of his ability under the circumstances to find his partner in this... hand signing to him?

A finger point to the hood of the vulture... a slanted hand acting as a walkway for a walking pair of fingers... and what could be considered leaping from the walkway to...

"I sense you're trying to tell me something," he rumbled half seriously while a mocking grin slowly crept on him.

The Ghost stood stock still, as if glaring at the convict from behind his visor, till he grabbed at his rifle, yanked it from its harness, flipped it and let it drop slightly till his grasp was on the barrel, and jabbed at the pedestal that was the accelerator for the vulture.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Tychus near screamed as the vulture lurched passed its current position till it nearly head butted the end of the train before easing off by a few inches. "You can't be serious!" The vulture lurch forward again, though not as violently as the first time. "You're insane, aren't you?!" A strange disconcerting sense of comfort washed over the man when the Ghost raised his spare hand into the convict's view and shook it in the nonverbal equivalent of "so-so..."

"Leave it to little Jimmy to stick me with the crazy guy..." the ex-prisoner grouched as he unsteadily climbed over the vulture's cockpit to the hood, his spot quickly occupied by the... 'questionable' Ghost to ensure he didn't fall off. Shakily he got up and took one baby step at a time, going slow as possibly to not risk whatever luck that got him so far already when it came to staying 'onboard' the vulture even as he passed the halfway point of the hover-bike, during which the bike itself shortened the gap between the 'marine' and the train for a short jump.

Taking a deep breath, Tychus pushed his suit to the limits leapt onto the train and snagged the guard rail with both hands that dared not let go as the metal screeched in protest to the desperate and sudden assault on it. The bike, meanwhile, shuddered roughly with its use as a bastardized springboard to which force the Ghost to manhandle the controls lest the vehicle crashed and possibly take him down with it. Regaining some amount of control, the Ghost brought the less burdened hover-bike to chase down on the train once more even with Tychus, having hauled himself over the guard rail, arming himself and bringing his newfound weapon to bear...

Masked narrowed eyes squinted a bit further when they noticed the angle of the guess rifle...

The burst of gunfire, and its deadly projectiles, soared above the driver and his 'ride' to assault something which the combined roar of the engine and the scream of onrushing air from the mag-lev train hidden. Even the Ghost couldn't help but snarl as to what he let sneak up on him, the spare rearguard hellion had caught up with its turret primed. With sudden cover fire for the vulture, the hellion turned sharply to get behind the hover-bike at the cost of the explosive growth of distance between the two. Unfortunately it also came at the cost of Tychu's support when the door opened once more for more Dominion marines.

A mechanical hand of the power armor immediately wrapped itself on the first available joint on a hapless marine and lobbed the soldier against the rail, stunning him, while the other pulled the trigger on another that dared to approach with his own rifle at the ready. Meanwhile a button was repeatedly mashed on a crude painting of a spider only for the Ghost to mash his teeth to find it didn't work just like its primary means of attack. With a shine as his warning, the biker swerved in time for a pair of red coated marines coming to meet the dirt alongside the savagely abused railing, unfortunately the hellion, either by keen eye or acting on a hunch, did the exact same thing and bypassed his now abandoned, if not dead, allies as he closed the distance.

Affording another look, the driver spotted Tychus retreating from the door to pick up the corpse of a fallen marine only to use it as a shield as he returned in kind the same trained gunfire that sought his end. A growl emanated from the Ghost as he dug into a small leg strapped container and produced a small black box of an object that shined with a blinking red dot upon being squeezed between the driver's palm and the floorboard of the vulture. Angling himself with the side of the balcony that still had a guard rail to speak off, the man grimaced under his helmet as he prepared to chance his own luck in a one shot endeavor.

His foot slammed into the accelerator one last time and bolted from his seat with a slight scramble as he climbed over the dash board and ran along the hood. Feet left the only substitute for safe ground at the speeds they were going, and a pair of outstretched hands latched into the railing that clung ever so tightly even with the daredevil slammed against the locomotive with his feet but inches from behind swept out from under him.

As for the hellion, it had crashed into the now wayward transport due to the driver's inability to deviate from the surprise garnered from the vulture's occupant abandoning the vehicle to its fate; between the crash that jostled loose the screws to fuels meant to be closed from the world at large and its recent add-on, the hellion driver wasn't able to recover from his mistake.

With a mobile threat out of the way, the Ghost climbed up from his ledge with his hand soon finding its way into his bomb holster and fished out a grenade. Tychus couldn't help but smirk as he spotted the device and its wielder as the latter unpinned it, hugged the wall, and let the devious device go inside the caboose with a quick blind toss.

XVX

"Command (lead train car)"

"Rear guard is down sir, both intruders are now inside."

"Damn it," an officer snarled as he rounded on the technician. "Tell all marines that they have a green light, don't let them even near the engine room!" With the communications officer busied with the command, the current commander of the regional Dominion forces round on a different technician as he tinkered with a electronic booth. "Doesn't this thing have any surveillance?"

"Sorry sir. Older mag-lev models don't have cameras installed in them."

"Turrets?!"

"Older model."

The man pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes. "ETA to the nearest command post?"

"Thirty minutes and counting sir."

"We just lost communications with car seven! Gunfire has been reported!"

He officer paced about the cabin while retaining his pose, his stress made more evident when he began to mutter on what to do. Snapping both eyes open and dropping his hand, he barked, "Congregate all the civilians to car two. Make a wall out of them!"

XVX

Car Six, two minutes later

"SMOKE 'EM!" a marine bellowed as he charged in to reinforce the faltering Dominion barricade of overturned boxes and piled bodies of the fallen. Two more joined in the fray to add to the group of three; five became four as another one was disposed of by a headshot.

"Surprise!" The bursts of gunfire died in mild confusion at the sudden declaration from their blue counterpart even as he lobbed a canister from his own respective cover.

"Oh shit-"

_BOOM!_

"The Dominion sure has a knack for sending in the dumb grunts," Tychus started with a "tsk" while marching to the door with the Ghost a step behind him. "Got to say though, they make good test subjects for them shredder grenades," he man drawled with a chuckle as he stepped over the remains of the Dominion soldiers and their impromptu fortifications to reach the threshold of the car.

As he neared it, he inched closer to the side of the door rather than cross the doorway, an action that the Ghost had taken as well. Both dared to peek from their respective cover for any dangers that awaited them.

XVX

"Command"

"All prisoners have been loaded into the second car sir."

"Good, the guards?"

"Guns primed and targets are in the kill zone sir."

"Good." The officer scowled as a thought struck him. "Any news as to how many intruders are, their armament, and projected abilities?"

"None sir..."

The man pursed his lips, coupled with a folded finger laying on top of them in thought.

"Have the escorts patrol cars two and three. I don't want to find some marine climbing along the rooftops on a hunch. Kill on sight, don't try to stop."

XVX

Outside

"Copy that, hellions out!" Twin flamethrower mounted cars eased off of their lead till they came within range of their targets in both sight and actual firing range.

"Think it's a bunch of marines, Chuck?"

"Probably, Roast. Though it had to be 'ard as hell to get onto the train outside of jumpin' off a passin' bridge."

"Either way, they're kindling to the fire if they dare step outside."

A bark of laughter rattle the intercom of Roast's headset. "Yep!"

Neither noticed the minute shimmer slowly making its way along the rooftops that only rushed forward to clear a gap. Of course few people ever notice a stealth operative when they're using their synonymous equipment.

Even if either of the Raider's were fresh from a boot camp, or worse never received any form (outside of experience set standards) of training at all, both would've found the distinct lack of guards and reputed hostages a tads disturbing and suspicious all the same. Given what they had learned over the years, there was only one plausible conclusion for the lack of bodies, living or otherwise: they were holed up in the back and awaiting to gun them down while using the civilians as shields.

If they were correct, and they most likely were, then there was only one solution... and it was a one man job given Tychus' current armament. Padding his way to an emergency escape hatch of the second to last car, the operative nudged it loose enough for him to peek through a crack to be treated to the back of a Dominion marine languidly facing a seat circle of defeated and scared colonists huddled together in a circle.

With a narrowing of the eyes, the Ghost pushed his senses to a higher degree as a mentally activated circuit switch on. "Eight marines circling twenty civvies," he finally croaked out as he sealed the hatch shut.

"What the... is that you kid?" Tychus rumbled. He received no response.

"Hello?" No response.

"Oly Oly Oxen free!" Again... no response as the Ghost hopped onto the next car.

"Ah screw it..."

"Flushing them out," the Ghost whispered as he edged another emergency hatch open to find less armored Dominion members milling about in the improvised command center. "Whatever kid..." From the leg-container, a concussive grenade was produced...

XVX

Car Two

_Boom!_

"What the-"

_Boom! Boom! Zzzt!_

All guns were trained on the portal leading to the first car as it opened, permitting smoke to belch out, for their commanding officer to burst through hacking, coughing, and staggering... with an odd look in his eye if the marines took time to notice it; his gaze appeared to be glazed over slightly.

"The computers went nuts and are messing with the engine!" he snarled as he ran past the guards to the other end. "You want to stick around for a train to crash or would you rather overpower some bumpkins with guns?!" he barked before disappearing behind the automatic door.

There was no deliberation, two of the guards menaced the colonists into staying put while their comrades rushed passed them in a bum rush to the door.

Calmly clicking boots drew their attention to the lead car's doorway, and many gasped in fearful shock to find a ghost leisurely walking out... and heading towards the nearest fire extinguisher.

XVX

Car Four

"Go! Go! Go!"

The retreat of the Dominion soldiers were cut short when the car door opened to let a blue marine in, his visor up to allow the world see him smoking a cigar and armed with a minigun.

"Bad idea to leave your toys where someone can just get 'em," he grunted with a devilish grin as the muzzle began to spin...

XVX

Engine Room

Several colonists swarmed the otherwise empty room, its course having been set and maintained solely by a computer while its now former owners dealt with the intrusion of their claimed transported; it didn't take a genius to override the unprotected hardware to reverse their course.

"Train cleaned and en route to the station. Pair of wheeled burners going to nip us along the way."

"Got that, some of the locals are heading out with our boys manning the guns. Where's Tychus though?"

"... having fun."

A groan escaped the Ghost's personal intercom. "Just don't let him blow up the train before you guys get back."

"Will do."

"That only happened once and you know it was an accident!" Tychus suddenly defended himself over the frequency.

"Still happened," Jim Raynor growled.

"Well at least I didn't plant a bomb on the vulture before abandoning it," Tychus half growled.

"You know I never-" Jim stopped as he took sudden consideration of the... comment and the chase that had long since occurred before it. "You sided with Rory when it comes to vultures, didn't ya kid?"

There was no response from the Ghost for that.

"They're classic pieces of engineering!"

**A/N: (*) Latin for "Slayer of Beasts."**

**I use Google translators, I do not claim to have a lucid understand of any languages outside of English!**

**Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds.**

Extra! Getting down with bunkers with Rory Swann!

Armory, Hyperion

"Alright boys and girls, who can tell me how many bunker types there are?" the stout man near bellowed at his roost.

"Huh... one? GAH!" Over the years, Swann's aim with wrenches has only improved.

"Wrong!"

"Huh-" another engineering only gulped as the eyes of the one armed man turned to him. "How many are there?" He sighed in relief when the man turned away to man his console to activate a small screen sitting on the platform's wall.

"As you are all aware, bunkers in general are meant to be protective gun posts for the troops that garrison them and are as easy to make in a sitch on the battlefield." Several images found themselves a home on the screen as the man once again assumed the position.

"But the common you all know isn't the only one ever built. Hell, the Confederacy spent millions into making more elaborate bunkers than the battlefield type."

"The purpose of the bunker in question is usually promptly explained in its name," the man explained as he flicked a small remote attached to his belt to let one of the images enlarge.

"Barrack bunkers, as you can imagine, are meant to house a squad's worth of troops for a time and were typically used when the environment requires a bit of tact to keep that squad from constantly being attacked."

The flicked another switch to allow an image containing a small installation, presumably underground, giving the audience a rough three dimensional sketch of a barracks with a small kitchen and armory to be easily replaced with a larger version of the base with what appeared to be a docking area. "Hanger bunkers were primarily used to house and repair damaged vehicles ranging from a small pack of _vultures_," the chief engineer gave out a quiet "bleh" before continuing, "to tanks. Some designs even allow small craft like a Wraith or a Dropship at the most fit inside them if they catered to ships."

The image was replaced once more with an even larger image consisting of a small port for vehicles, though not large enough for a tank, and numerous rooms including, but not limited to, rooms such as sleeping quarters, kitchens, and what appeared to be a command center near the exact center of the complex. "Command bunkers are basically underground versions of the kind you see every day in a Terran operation only bigger and lacking the flying capability of above ground structures."

"Any questions?"

"Why did you gather us for something we're not going to use?"

The engineer could only jump before he was pelted by a wrench like his comrade. "OH THAT HURTS!" he screamed as he clutched his face.

"Any other questions?"

"OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT BEHIND YOU?!" The robotic armed engineer swerved around with a wrench at the ready only to find that he had been duped! Worst of all, for him at least, his crew had taken to hiding in the small window that Rory gave them by turning around!

"This is the thanks I get for trying to enlighten people," the man grumbled as he returned to his console.

"_Not going to use_," he grumbles once more with a snort as he cleared away the bottom screen. "Is it wrong to teach people something now and then?"


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own, in any aspect that entitles dominion (not the Mengsk kind at least) of any variation, Naruto nor Starcraft.**

**Wish I did though...**

**Warning****: Contains swearing.**

**To those who may not be aware of it:**** The appearance of armor, weaponry, and the like in the flashbacks are closer related to the older models (StarCraft) whereas the non flashback getup is modern day (StarCraft2). If you are not familiar with the designs, then the only suggestion I have is to search the web to remedy that situation.**

They call me a Spectre

Chapter 3: What do you do when they come for you...

_(Flashback!)_

Mina de oro

"Target is just ahead, any questions?"

"Can we-"

"Rephrasing: Any questions that won't make me want to shove a wrist mounted flamethrower into their suit?"

"Nope..." Sergeant Frankfurt Jones did nothing to prevent the grin hidden under the blackened visor of his tank burdened hardskin armor, yet everyone knew it was there regardless of the lack of sight. Everyone save for one Ghost however...

Omega squad's target: Scoro nest, one of many colonies that plagued miners in above ground operations due to natural granite-like skin that protected the colossal scorpion-like creatures from most infantry assaults. A company of tanks and vulture runners flushed out all the matured defenders, now all that remained was to destroy the eggs that cannons could not reach, and the bulk of a vulture proved a greater hindrance than aid in the narrowed corridors of the underground cavern that insects called home; they could fit, but sudden turns in the twisting labyrinths robbed the vultures of their precious speed. This wasn't a problem for infantry however, and infantile Scoro were easy pickings till they reached a more matured state where their carapace starts to adapt the same properties of their means of protection much like if not exactly like their adult counterparts.

In any event, the squad of six crossed the threshold of the cavern and began their descent into the darkness without nothing but the hardwired floodlights built into the hardskins of marine, firebat, and medic variants of the armor while their sixth relied on the constantly self adjusting tri-lense visor of his mask. Standard issue for all ghosts, not terribly practical when it came to using a sniper scope with the tubing the lenses consisted of and its automatic adjustment from normal vision to night vision was at best... annoying with its cheap quality and the fact he couldn't manually shut it off and viciously destroy it. Whenever his lenses detected a distinct lack of light from any direct source, such as flashlights pointed away from him for example, it automatically switched to 'night vision,' which itself was more harmful than useful: The background was an undefined dark green backdrop till he approached an object, which more often than not he wouldn't be able to see even after running into it. Anything it picked up, say people such as his squad mates for example, that his mask did see came out as headache inducing bright green humanoid blobs. As for detecting lights... staring into the sun was in all probability far less harmful than seeing a light in 'night vision,' and made walking under trees or anything similar to it complete and utter hell if nothing else.

Last but not least the design of the mask made it take minutes to put on and remove for even the most experienced of ghosts, and setting it up improperly made one literally blind to the world till the wearer _redid_ the setup. Unfortunately most of the standard ghost equipment for ghosts was completely useless if one item was either missing or wasn't working properly... making the mask _mandatory_.

Ghost equipment, ever living proof that the Confederacy does not care for anything or anyone not overly useful to them.

Cheap bastards...

The Ghost muffled a pained grunt when his booted foot smacked against an outlying boulder of a rock and the material buckled enough for his actual foot to feel it.

Ghost equipment... where nudity on a battlefield actually looks like a good idea.

XVX

"Right... no scoro... does this mean our job's done?"

"I second that motion!"

"Can we go for nachos?"

Sergeant Jones heavily sighed as the triplets' argument devolved to a three way battle for "what's for dinner" while he himself surveyed the one and only cavern that could house the insects' eggs. Only there were no eggs. There were no newborn nor adolescent scoro... at least living ones; the only enemies they faced were on the verge of decomposing. Outside of the sentries that the tanks and vultures took care of, there seemed to be none down here despite what their numbers suggested.

Strange to say the least.

"Anything Shrimp?" Ghost, modern day commandos and go-to assassins for governments and shadowy organizations geared with the proper equipment to... 'liberate' government Ghosts or had the connections to an active rogue. Being far from normal by nature, they came host to several abilities only they could comprehend, a scientist specialized in the psionic field, or better yet the Protoss' ability to understand since it made up their very nature... or at least a large part of it. One of the many strange, and slightly disturbing, abilities a ghost can wield, provided that they are trained and know what they are doing, is the ability to detect other life forms usually with the same general mutation or ability that makes them what they are. A little more focus and they can at least vaguely sense something without this 'gift' so to speak. That, and ghosts have night vision where marine suits equipped with any kind of light were only as flexible as far as the chest, or in some cases the shoulder, was concerned.

"Something's there..." their junior member rasped. It was enough to elicit the cocking of one of Frankfurt's brows. The fact that someone who may or may not be twelve or so years old, determining by size alone since the boy in question practically lived in his suit if the time spent with him was an indicator, was sketchy on the face of it; one didn't send a child in the Ghost Program to work with a squad, any squad for that matter. The one and only theory he could wrap his head around was the idea that this may be some kind of experiment cooked up by the eggheads and officials involved with the Ghost Program... that or he was some kind of troublemaker that throwing him to the wolves was less of a hassle for them. But the question was what kind of experiment was he involved with and if he was aware of it. Whatever it was, it was obvious that they wouldn't risk a possible failure by sending an untrained boy out as made evident with a brief demonstration to gauge his competency and skills.

So either their new squad mate just trained enough to be reliable or there was a malfunction he was too embarrassed to talk about...

"Aw... why can't a job be easy!"

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy..."

"We demand a vacation!"

"If I stuffed my own flamethrower in my suit and used it, would it count as suicide or a mercy killing?" Frankfurt idly pondered to himself. "Light's up! Let's see if those ugly bastards suddenly learned to climb." With the underlying threat of a potential ambush, interrogating the new kid had to be put on hold for the time being; "Something's there" undoubtedly demanded a priority alert than a technical issue.

With grumbling the floodlights, attached to the pauldrons of the power armor rose to meet the order. "Oh shit..."

They found the scoro... what was left of them at least along with their eggs. He should've identified the markers left behind by the corpses they found. Cold, angry arachnid eyes glared balefully back at them as they dug into the unprotected carapaces of the gigantic scorpions and defenseless shells of their unborn brethren. There was an official name to them, to the creatures that looked eerily like the tarantulas of earth so many centuries ago but with the same granite colored hair to make them hard to spot much like their scorpion-like prey, but they were more commonly referred to by another name used by miners and soldiers alike for their feeding habits: Vampires. Natural predator to the scoro whose abilities were directly proportionate to their size; the bigger they are, the meaner and faster they are. The largest recorded Vampire was on par to a command center in height, thus requiring something akin to a team of wraiths or a battlecruiser to destroy with minimal casualties...

However that didn't mean an entire cave roof filled to the brim with vampires were not a threat on their own. Especially to an infantry unit when the defining characteristics, outside of size, for the bloodsucking spiders were their outstanding ability to jump three times their (current) height and live, secrete acidic venom to enable them to tear into matured scoro, and the ability to spin webs for rappelling purposes.

"Call it!" Further orders were not needed, even for the youngest of the group, to turn tail and run from a descending horde of tarantulas as tall as the Ghost's knees. Up ahead, the indistinct chatter of Corporal Denise Zimmer on the radio could be heard over the raucous of storming feet followed closely by the dull roar of hundreds of vampires on the hunt. What she said mattered little to those on the retreat, and even far less to a ghost who ran near blindly through the snaking tunnel with nothing but the sounds of mechanized footsteps and the budding familiarity of their individual psyche to guide him while the ravenous army that followed only made his need for escape all the more dire in nature.

But in a sense it only made things worse for him. Emotions, any kind of emotion for that matter, was a double edged sword when in the extremes or just overriding one's common sense. Anger, or better yet rage, though often making one physically more powerful through adrenaline and aggression, made one much more prone to making a mistake. Love can likewise make someone abundantly powerful, or at least daunting in nature, through sacrifice or becoming more daring, though in extreme cases it bordered on psychotic obsession that made one into a unreasonable killer at times.

Fear was no exception in the spectrum of emotions and their boons as well as shortcomings. The opposite of anger where survival mattered more than victory as often the case, though there were reverses at times. But in a matter of surviving, fear gave one the distinct advantage of speed given the adrenaline that would empower a being in a fight was conversely giving said being the power to flee. Yet like anger, it too made one sloppy at times. Combined with at least two thirds of its instigators, poor sight and rugged terrain of an underground network, it made for a potent combination for disaster.

A disaster made manifest in the form of a collision with a stalagmite.

If they heard his pained "oof!" as it was uttered, it wasn't made evident with the distressingly fading stomps of the hardskin armor when he crashed into the ground... while the counterpart skittering of hundreds if not thousands of legs overlapped what noise the retreating squad could make in their haste, not to mention all but blot out what hopes the ghost had to escaping. Arms sprung out to push himself up to make a run for it, only one arm responded while the other screamed murder in its own right. One arm was enough to do the job though more sloppily compared to an act of two arms; using the presumably injured arm would probably be more detrimental than helpful.

Near blind panic struck him, his heart hammering into his chest that it seemed to be on the verge of breaking bone and sinew, as he took off once more in the only direction available to him while the ascending horde relentlessly pursued him still to close the slowly decreasing gap. They were close to leaping distance. Yet fear once again aided the want to survive and gave distance between the two sides only by the small virtues of the panic induced speed and the small stature of the arachnids seeking a new meal.

It didn't last forever however.

Again he collided with something that his cheap equipment couldn't pick up and again he was on the ground with his soon-to-be killers while he writhed ever so slightly in pain even the overcharged nerves could feel. Calling for help was pointless, his squad left him behind either knowingly or not... neither of which mattered now. The distance between them, though guessed, was too short to attempt to flee once more... and who was to say he wouldn't collide with something else. The only viable option he had, other than lay down and pray they end this quickly, lied with the only weapon that never left his grip since the mission began.

C-Ten rifle, signature weapon of ghosts everywhere, and probably the only piece of equipment that the Confederacy went through the trouble of making worthwhile; the only real flaw it had was he needed a second hand to switch its function between a semi-auto to an automatic weapon.

_"POW!"_

Eyes clenched in pain rivaling his ruined arm as the bright light of gunfire fired blindly into the numerous spiders.

_"POW!"_

Each bullet hit something to say the least, though in all probability it hit the stone walls if not the onrushing horde.

_"POW!"_

If only he had two hands... then bullets wouldn't be his only 'defense.' If he was able, he could-

_"Burn!"_ someone near cackled...

Again... staring into the sun was most likely _far_ less harmful than his 'night vision' setting. The vampires screeched and retreated as far as ground forces were concerned from the sudden onslaught of flames courtesy of the wrist mounted perdition flamethrowers that were standard issue for firebats, the screeching of the now fleeing ground set of spiders were probably the only cloaking the ghost had to disguising his own surprised cry of anguish. Above them crawled a second set of vampires eager for the kill, some even rappelling down with their silken ropes even when the flames turned on them.

Unfortunately as Frankfurt quickly noticed, his focus on one set only gave ground to the other. Without thinking he plucked the down ghost, still clutching his rifle, from the ground and fled from the advancing horde.

Up ahead...

"This is where we hold them! This is where fight! This is where they-!" a triplet began spouting, only to be cut off over the radio. "JUST SHOOT THEM ALREADY YOU DAMN IDIOTS!"

"The sarge has no humor..." one groaned.

"Right, on the count of three then!"

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three-"

"Don't you bloody dare-" Frankfurt started...

"PORK FAT RULES!" they all screamed as they rained lead death from their spot as cover for the sergeant and his passenger. "I hate you guys..." the man grumbled. The remark was never dignified as he passed the trio, passed the corporal, and strode into the light that was the surface followed shortly by his squad.

"Guns trained on the mouth ladies! Get the hell out of there!" someone barked over the radio.

With the merciful switch to normal vision, the ghost peered over his own slumped form to see seige tanks deployed on the ridge-

_(End Flashback!)_

XVX

Blackwater Station, Mar Sara

"Warning: Zerg forces detected! Warning: Zerg forces detected!"

The klaxons alone were enough to rose the slumbering ghost from atop the roof of a barracks, but the warning of a familiar terror was sure to drain whatever grogginess he would've had. Already the base of the split level island rose up from its leisurely stupor to man the perimeter, garrison the bunkers, and harvest the resources yet to be collected to supply the soon-to-be battlefront that undoubtedly protected the base. The base itself sat on a plateau, though the base itself was split level by design, between a mountain wall and a gorge that prevented most from entering the base outside of the two bridges that connected it at the furthest corners, northwest and northeast respectively, of the bases' bottom half.

Sitting on the other side of the canyon sat the town of Blackwater, just in ear shot of the klaxons... the news was taken with the same calm acceptance as just learning that a mass murderer was breaking down the front door with a chainsaw as a weapon of choice. Already marines tried to calm the terrorized masses as they ushered them to further safety inside the base's confines.

Unfortunately it was cold comfort at best to those who have faced the Zerg before...

Mean. Vicious. Monstrous. Savage. Bestial. Malicious... no single word could truly describe the creatures often associated with mutations, numbers, and animalistic brutality. Where ever they are, the only brought on death and destruction and left nothing else in their wake. Such is the fate of Blackwater Station... and quite possibly Mar Sara once again after five years of being free of them. The Annual Hydralisk Derby of four years running not withstanding of course.

To the built in screens hardwired into the Raiders' armor, specialized in size and design as dependant of the suit, a message was received: Twenty-five minutes to Evac.

The Ghost almost guffawed as a thought struck him as he double checked the surroundings and the facts. Two bridges, undoubtedly surrounded by Zerg, scared civilians, and a holdout till the cavalry arrived and saved them... the only factor that changed was that he wasn't on a dropship to help save the day as it were.

He shook his head as his resolve stowed the mounting desire to chuckle at the small irony to the back burner, there was a job to do after all.

He dropped down from his current place of rest and barreled down the ramp just behind a squad of SCVs (Space Construction Vehicles) as the mechanized workers also rushed to the frontline armed with their drills and spare parts they could steal with their pneumatic clamps to build barricades and more bunkers along the base's side of the bridge.

But their speed in movement and construction were left with something to be desired, the first wave of zerglings were upon them as announced by the rampant destruction of abandoned homes soon followed by the onrush of the bestial creatures, with the ever synonymous image in appearance of a dog-like base given the aesthetics of a insect in skin and wings, the pair of lengthy talons on its back notwithstanding, and their heads still bearing their lipless maws that sat beneath their heads almost indistinctive from their backs if not for the red-orange eyes and the horns curving alongside the underline of their jaws.

Easy to kill, but always came in packs from eight to a thousand...

Already guns were trained upon the charging zerglings by the marines housed at the bridge bunker, northwest side, and the squad, including the ghost, forming a firing line just behind it.

_"FIRE!"_

The lead pack, and those that followed it, were decimated in a relentless volley as shell after shell ripped into and dismembered the zerglings as they charged forward in a gauntlet they knew they wouldn't survive.

"To anyone hearing this message, we're pinned down near Blackwater Station! Please assist!" someone cried over the radio.

There were no teams he was aware of on patrol...

"Separatists," the ghost surmised to himself. Mar Sara Separatists, rebels of the recently freed eponymous planet who were willing enough to face the Dominion but were not adventurist enough, or motivated enough for that matter, to leave their planet with the Raiders.

"Right, you heard him boys. As soon as the base is secure, I want a team at the ready for search and rescue between waves," Jim Raynor called out over the communicator. A sigh escaped the ghost as he cracked his neck and made his way to the other bridge, the closest exit available to him as per the dot on the onboard mini-map, courtesy of modern day equipment, suggested. While the idea of rescue was certainly welcomed... the erratic behavior of the zerg made any situation disheartening at best when on the defensive. Not to mention they had a tendency to _track_ psionics like himself...

This was an operation that was going to have to wait till a proper squad was formed.

Already more marines poured forth from the upper tier from the barracks as more and more Raiders, and possibly some volunteers from the town proper, to supplement the loose defenses as the bunkers and barricades were installed. Additionally, supply depots were being built from scratch to act as impromptu gates between the bunkers both old and new as the latter was being filled with fresh troops.

"You heard the man! Form up and prepare to move out!" With piqued interest, the ghost peered over his shoulder to see a troop of eight marines and two medics rushing past him to the recently finished, and lowered, supply depot 'gate' leading to the nearest stranded Separatist squad.

It was too early for an attempt...

"Screw it." Better than leaving someone to be ripped apart, eaten, or disintegrated at least by the savage monsters...

A ghost and two more marines joined the fold as the rescue team went to the aid of the stranded rebels.

From the second tier being laden with yet another set of bunkers for assurance should the first line of defense fall, two figures stood along the edge as they observed the happenings below them from tropp movement to additional defenses being constructed. They were none other than James Raynor in his custom black hardskin and Tychus in his own armor that sported the white numbers 435 on one spaulder and a woman sitting crossed legged in a chair shaped like a Spade in nothing but a red vest, near invisible stockings, high heels, and a chaingun in her hand.

"I've got a question for you Jimmy," Tychus suddenly rumbled.

"Yeah?"

"What's your boy's deal?" The convict's attention was robbed from the terrace below to give his long time partner his attention who in turn turned to him with a perked eyebrow. "Come again?" Raynor drawled.

"You said that boy is gonna say a word to me back when we got reunited back at the bar, yet he was speakin' fine back on the train... though he was a little on the rude side for my tastes." The commander couldn't help but smirk back much to the scoundrel's rising curiosity. "I personally don't really call chatter over the radio as talking for him, though it seems to be somethin' of an improvement."

"Huh?"

The former marshal of the very planet he stood on couldn't help but scoff as an anecdote came to mind. "Of course I remember the same thing being said when he shouted out warnings of impending attacks when he's upset."

"You're losin' me Jimmy," Tychus drawled.

"Ah it's nothing..." The sharp crisp ringing "beep-beep!" of his HUD alerted him to the recent rescue of the Separatist squad. A second ringing of a higher pitch also alerted of an incoming horde of zerg coming from the same general direction, an alert that doubtlessly was sent to the Raiders below if the sudden flurry of activity was to be explained.

"Uh Jimmy, I think your boy is more touched in the head than he admitted back on our last mission."

The rebel commander screwed his eyes shut. He didn't truly need to look at Tychus to learn he managed to obtain a pair of binoculars from seemingly nowhere with his, James, brief bout of inattention. "He's standing in front of the zerg's warpath, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"Squad rushing past him to get to the base?"

"Yep."

"Gun holstered?"

"He's done somethin' like this before hasn't he?" Tychus suddenly countered with his own question.

"Yep..."

"Holy crap..." Tychus murmured from his roost as the mountain wall between the ghost and the advancing horde suddenly... came to life as dozens of pillars, half a meter in diameter, shot out from the rock and drove into the zerg. "That bartender must've slipped somethin' into my drink," Tychus growled as he shook both his head clear and his binoculars for good measure.

"Vision's just fine Tychus," Jim replied with a smirk derived from Tychus' disheveled state.

"That's just not natural, that is," he, Tychus, grouched as he returned his attention to the ghost, the latter mopping up wounded stragglers before returning to the safety of the base. "Something taught at the Ghost Academy I take it?" the man inquired. "Not exactly..." Lowering his binoculars, Tychus turned to his former partner in crime during the days of the Confederacy with an upturned brow.

"How much do you know about lost colonies?"

"Enough to know that they ain't a myth," Tychus drawled once more before turning his attention to the ghost as he strolled into the base, the depot 'gate' closing promptly behind him after crossing the threshold. "And I take it he ain't your average ghost, am I right?"

"Yep-" The sharp tone of a the HUD being alerted drew Raynor's attention. Fifteen minutes till the evacuation. Whatever that was to be said lay abandoned as the Raiders' commander reached for a nearby guess rifle laying on a crate, armed himself, and made his way towards the ramp. "Aw... no time for story tellin'?" Tychus half teased.

Not even halfway to the ramp, the commander stopped. "With the zerg, it's only a matter of time before they find a way to crush the defenses. And even then, they'll think of a way to bypass them completely." He didn't turn around in his reply, nor did he await a response to it.

XVX

"Mayday, mayday! We're trapped by the zerg, they're burrowed all around us! If you can reach us, please help!"

"We need immediate support! Hostiles all around us. Is anyone out there!?"

Rescue teams were dispatched, though not all came back in one piece. The same could be said of the Separatists that lived to make it back to the base. The zerg were as relentless as they were plentiful, and the creep spawned by the pustule-like 'tumors' that snaked their way across the land before the base only served to hasten their creators' arrival as well as enable the spawning of territorial defenses to rip apart or disembowel those brave or foolish enough to attack them.

Yet that wasn't the worst of it. Drop pods were hurtling into the innersanctum of the base bearing low numbers of zergling and the occasional Hydralisk as there serpentine forms and broad elongated heads made them unmistakable to those who weren't even familiar with them. Nydas worms, colossal worms forever associated with eased travel for zerg ground forces with no standard length, were spotted sprouting from the ground in the bases bearing troops from other zerg colonies to supplement the now near limitless army fielded against a base of marines and medics. But the most damning were the squads of Mutalisks, flying worm-like creatures that bore an enlarged orifice of sorts on their 'tails' that spawned glaives, when they aided their grounded bethren from the air by ripping into soldiers, bunkers, and missile turrets alike even as the last tried to fend off the airborne threat.

But a new foe made itself known. It was short in stature, much like a zergling, yet far wider and bore far thicker armor that it took a squad to destroy them where two to four could handle a single creature, in most cases at least, of the swarm. Two stubby blades angled forward helped mark their appearance as well as the extra pair of legs that supported them. There was no name given to them just yet... though "Spewer" was certainly at the forefront of many a mind for its eponymous method of attack of spewing acid that ate armor and flesh indiscriminately. The only saving grace the defenders of the base had was that everyone was too busy fighting for their lives to worry about the kill count these creatures racked up.

The first tier was lost and those that could fled to the relative safety of the second line of defense as it was being freshly augmented with a newer set of bunkers and turrets as the clock counted down from the original estimated twenty minute mark. The only reprieve the marines and medics had was the small show the ghost had given him in the erection of barriers made from the now disturbed foundation of their base that kept the zerg from reaching the only ramp that lead to the base... for the time being at least.

It was all the advantage the marines needed to rip into the swarming ranks that clawed, shot into, and vomited madly at the stone walls that denied them carnage.

"MUTAS!" Already the missile turrets sprung into action as they targeted their intended foe and opened fire while bunkered marines and their mobile counterparts helped fight off the airborne threats while those unaffected, or rather out of range, concerned themselves with the numbers that continued to be reinforced.

"Come on, come on!" Trucks confiscated from the base's garage slowly piled into the narrow gap between the torn fortifications as the zerg continued to mindlessly hack into them. Yet they, the trucks, weren't a barrier by nature in both design and its newfound purpose. It would be twisted funny if the situation wasn't so dire, and the fact that people in majority were in general mistrust of spider mines even when the zerg came calling.

"Commander, this is Matt Horner. Just hold on! Cavalry's on the way!"

"Take your time, Matt. No rush!" James replied in what good humor that could be found...

From behind, given forewarning but a second beforehand, a nydus worm in all its fanged glory overlapped by a pair of thick pincer-like appendages on one side erupted into the base with a roar befitting its size.

"GUN IT DOWN!" Even the marines in the makeshift 'gorge' abandoned their efforts to join in the fight with speeds enhanced by built in stimpacks while all available souls sought the creature's end before its cargo was unleashed with the reopening of its maw. Even a few of the more cowardly SCVs brought their drills to bear while others sought to complete their duties in panic induced haste.

Their fears turned to morbid curiosity when green-black blood was puked out as opposed to the kin that made up it the bloodthirsty zerg before it teetered, and crashed, to the side to rasp its death wail. Their curiosity to what had happened was soon forgotten as the zerg continued their assaults by land and air.

In the 'trench' created by the walls, a likewise cry of death was heard when another worm sought to surprise the Raiders/Separatist defenses by crashing through the trucks and inadvertently activating the trap that was aimed for the brood that continued to hack at the now shaky walls...

The sacrifice of the nydus worm was the final push needed for the swarm.

Overpowering the infuriatingly longstanding defense, the aliens madly dashed through flames, their newly minted dead, and bullets alike as they came crashing into another pair of bunkers given an impromptu gate of supply depots. "Keep at it boys! Our Ride is on its way!" Jim bellowed as he chucked a grenade at the onrushing forces that tore into the first thing they spotted despite the rising kill count.

"Cavalry's arrived! Anyone still alive down there?" Hurtling out from orbit came the behemoth-class battlecruiser bringing to bear its might as entire battalions of zerg storming their way to the front soon learned in their fiery deaths. From its cargo bays dropships came into the open with only the escort provided by the Hyperion as their cover as it fried everything it passed over and those that dared to come near in its own attack on the cruiser.

"Good to see ya, Matt! Welcome to the party!"

"Which is being crashed!" Tychus screamed as he severed zergling after zergling that continued to storm the failing frontline.

"Glad to see we made it in time, Sir. Let's get you boys out of there."

From its resting place, the artifact bearing flatbed of a construction vehicle awoke from its slumber as its driver gunned it towards the nearest dropship available, an act repeated all over the base now that the Hyperion reduced the seemingly numberless zerg that charged in despite their knowing doom. Few teams lingered behind long enough to ensure the surviving bugs remained few in number.

Tychus however was not a part of one of those teams. With thanks to the power armor that was both his strength and protection in most fights, he ran to the nearest ship yet to be filled to the brim. Movement caught his eye like anything else despite his rush and his attention turned to a somewhat curious sight to him...

The ghost, like everyone else, was in retreat too... at the same speed of someone on the wrong end of a back alley mugging. He bore no rips, tears, or even blood, other than zerg that is, on his suit. Had his powers taken a toll on him? Perhaps...

As for the ghost, he continued to limp forward to the dropship that eagerly awaited him just as eagerly as its pilot wanted to leave now that the base's occupants were almost nonexistent. He tried to will himself forward, yet his body screamed "no!" despite the circumstances around him. Thoughts were spared as motivators to give him an edge, but were not given dice by his protesting body thus his speed remained the same...

Till someone intervened. "Unless you want to be zerg food kid, I'd suggest you learn to get a move on a lot faster!" In a once of déjà vu, an armored hand plucked the ghost from the ground while its ownwer hurtled towards the dropship that awaited them.

And his impromptu oath of silence was broken by a short scream when Tychus successfully chucked him to the other end of the troop carrier.

"Come on, let's go already!" Tychus barked.

The groan from the downed ghost was only masked by the hiss of hydraulics that kicked into action when no other marine, medic, or SCV was left on the field.

**A/N: For the record, though inspired by the comments of the SC2 firebat... there is a backstory to the "Pork fat rules" for Omega squad.**

**Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own, in any aspect that entitles dominion (not the Mengsk kind at least) of any variation, Naruto nor Starcraft.**

**Wish I did though...**

**Warning****: Contains swearing.**

They call me a Spectre

Chapter 4: To know a stubborn patient

_(Flashback!)_

Barrack Bunker, Mina de Oro

There was a strict disadvantage to immediate deployment most soldiers could agree on, after some debate of course. There was little time to pack. Of course by the design of the Ghost Academy, there wasn't much to pack other than the clothes worn on ones back and whatever was decreed fit to send their trainees/operatives with. In other words, the latest member of the Squad Omega had to borrow the adult sized clothing of his teammates till the requisition order came through. As such, the team ghost was locked in a room as he battled oversized garments that was to be his till he got his suit and equipment back from the triplets who confiscated it almost immediately when said ghost abandoned them to take a shower.

"So what do we got?" Frankfurt half demanded as he sat hunched forward in a chair with a half missing cigar in hand.

"Crappy hardware all around and a flimsy suit to boot," one triplet reported.

"The rifle is A-okay."

"I may have voided the warranty on the night vision mode!"

"That may be a good thing- I've seen wrecked SCVs more useful than this!"

"Judgment?" The cigar was further diminished by a calculative drag from the sergeant as he awaited conclusion from the privates, with their deceptively savvy understanding of hardware both official and unofficial alike (to which he never asked how they knew of such things), as they carefully inspected the ghost gear of their latest teammate.

"He was given substandard gear."

"The rifle is the reliable mass production model alright."

"I'm surprised he was even able to use the equipment at all."

"Can you fix it?" Frankfurt queried. "Yep," all three responded at once.

"Time frame?"

"Couple of weeks anyway we do it."

"Can't do anything about the suit short of a requisition order."

"Get bacon in that too!"

"Ooooh!" Before the inevitable piling onto the supposed supply request was voiced, Sergeant Jones already made off like a bandit to the depths of the underground bunker with nothing more than dulled yells of various foodstuffs to be ordered following him. In his retreat he only stopped once by a door where numerous grunts and mild curses escaped from. Bringing a calloused knuckle to bear, he rapped on the door a handful of times to both announce his presence outside it as well as grab the attention of the room's occupant.

"The trio is working on your suit to make it more friendly to ya. However we're going to be doing easy missions I can get our squad assigned to until we can get our hands on better equipment for ya." Stark silence permeated the air for a lengthy moment that warranted the curious raising of a brow on the sergeant's part. "Thank you..." With ado the grunting and mild cursing of failed bids to garb himself sufficiently continued. A mild shake of the head and roll of the eyes was all that was given on Frankfurt's part as he delved ever deeper into their current abode.

_(End Flashback!)_

XVX

Hyperion

Under a visor, closed eyes groggily opened upon sensing a presence that made itself known to him for the past few days since the mission to Agria... which grew ever more annoyed with him by his daily obstinate refusal to do one simple thing in that person's view: Go get a checkup.

His current record in avoiding the med bay, as for as this doctor was concerned, was ten days, eight hours, twenty-nine minutes and counting. His actual record in avoiding a voluntary visit to the place however was closer to the very beginning of Raynor's Raiders. Apparantly she never got Stetmann's memo about his aversion to clinics...

Of course it may have helped if Stetmann was remotely qualified as a bare necessities medic to convince this woman now that he thought about it.

Regardless, one Ariel Hanson was greeted by a pressurized air horn when that door opened for her...

XVX

Cantina

"AAAAAH!" Ariel had yet to be known to be subtle in her overall disappointment as of late regarding her wayward "patient," provided that he could be called that of course. Being easily startled by pranks did not help her case in the least either.

"Chalk up another one." From behind the bar, the aptly named tender absent mindedly picked up a piece of chalk and marked another tally amongst a growing horde of now thirty-seven "Failed attempts" as the board was so boldly dubbed as such. Next to it on the wall behind the bar sat a grease board with a more detailed listing compared to its chalk based brother: On it was a varied listing of a number of days of a predicted failure on the ghost's part in his seemingly eternal bid to stay out of a recognized clinic under his own volition, or forced volition for the matter outside of combat related injuries or the occasional accident absolutely requiring medical attention. Zero to ten days, twenty to thirty days, thirty to forty, months, years, with the only exception to the lengths of time being a box at the bottom of the improvised chart labeled "Never." It was a betting game as to how long the ghost could stay out of Doctor Hanson's clutches, and so far only three out of the entire crew participating in the gamble dared to favor her at all in regards of being successful...

Unfortunately the bet indicating the earliest point of plausible capture was as close as two months from the original starting date of the current 'battle' between the two whereas the other two hypothesized it being years later.

XVX

Laboratory, day seventeen of the "war"

A finely manicured nail sternly tapped on a small desk as its owner intently stared at the official registration of the Raider's roster containing her one and only prey to a _mandatory_ check up given the Raider's had no official doctor for a considerable length of time. An auto-doc (autonomous doctor) can only do so much, not to mention its _intended_ purpose was to patch up wounds and administer necessary antibiotics to avoid infections after the procedure... While she was thankful enough for their assistance where the Dominion not only failed but outright abandoned them on their world, there was little she could do to not snap at those who dared question the necessity of a medical checkup as well as a official record of their health and their quirks regarding it.

Yet with an cooled head, tapered temper, the brown haired doctor and leader of the now fallen colony world of Agria managed to compose a working and up to date list of the crew's current health and all that it entailed through examinations as well as physicals. Well, she the crew's list save one who only had a registration to act as anything remotely resembling a medical record and even then it was filled with what was that could be passed off as the essentials minus a name.

Had she not only one pair of prescription glasses, she would've head butted the desk a long time ago upon learning this.

With a small, irritated growl she all but jabbed the monitor's power button before rising from her seat, donning her lab coat, and briskly storming off to the door for yet _another_ day of chasing a difficult solider who did nothing but consume her time and jolt her with childish-

With the opening of the door, she was 'greeted' by a certain ghost using the redundancy of wearing a mask over a mask... the mask in question was that of a hydralisk's head.

"OOGA BOOGA BOO!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Her own screamed cancelled out the opposing cackle emitted from the brat of a ghost who disappeared thanks to his camouflaging suit after abandoning the mask as a souvenir to only egg her on further.

"WAIT TILL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" she howled as she struggled to stand up and give chase.

XVX

Cantina

Forty-eight tallies now decorated the chalkboard by the end of the perceived day.

XVX

Hallway, day twenty-four

While normally sweet, even Ariel Hanson had limits when in pursuit of her professional duty as a doctor. In hindsight however, the pursuit of her professional duty had bordered close to obsession more than once when provoked.

The bait, an discreetly placed bag of nacho flavored chips on a crate, was set. Her small flotilla of commandeered janitorial robots outfitted with knockout gasses and armor piercing tranquilizer darts stowed away in normally functional brushes and pipes, after some heated negotiations with Swann in not only seizing the A.I hardware and repurposing them, patrolled the hallway dutifully while awaiting for the ghost to come by and become distracted by the abandoned snack. Even A.I. needed something to trigger them after all, such as reaching for the snack bag for example.

With the trap set, all she had to do was wait in the nearby maintenance closet and overhear the telltale signs of a ghost finally being defeated by a small squad of robot 'janitors.'

_Crinkle_.

"What the- Ow! OW! WHAT THE HELL!"

"_YES!_" In a flash, Ariel escaped her closet and rushed to the down form... of Milo Kachinsky, one of the Hyperion's technicians, laying face first in a growing puddle of his own drool while several hypodermic darts of dispensable tranquilizer containers were sticking out of various places of his body while said body twitched between mild seizures and an actual urge to resist the suppressants now dominating his body. Immediately Ariel dove back into the closet and retrieved a small case, one of many in the event of an emergency, of the appropriate countermeasures to counteract the potentially lethal dosage Kachinsky now faced.

From the corner of the other end of the hallway, a certain ghost was idly opening a bag of chips while lazily eying the patrolling robots and the frantic doctor trying to save a hapless victim, lured in by the promise of the now stolen nacho flavored chips.

XVX

Cantina

Sixty-five tallies now adorned the blackboard.

XVX

Hanger Twelve, day twenty-seven

The people of Agria who supplemented the ranks of the Raiders were not exactly warriors of any kind by nature, hence the reason Agria had so little defenses to offer to stall the Zerg when the Dominion abandoned the planet to its fate. As such there was really only one person she could turn to when the Hyperion's crew and commander exhibited so little interest and reigning in a rogue element for his own good: Tychus Findlay; a man whom rumor and speculation seemed interwoven into his very personality that only gave credence to his willingness to hunt down an ally with a shock lance, essentially a rifle sized taser meant to take down marines in hardskins, for the sum of a thousand credits...

In any event, that ghost was going to get his physical whether he liked it or not.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," Tychus drawled as he carefully swept the darkened improvised corridors of the hangar with a rifle, pronged to three points where the barrel would be and split to an incomplete rectangle of sorts with a side complete missing on top, that crackled electricity along its split slabs of metal just waiting to be discharged into whatever victim to be caught by the bolts. Not far behind him was a hassled Ariel Hanson with a bag in hand equipped with every sedative agent that could be employed on another human being to ensure the capture.

XVX

Cantina

"Think he'll go psionic on them?"

"Doubt it, I'm saying sniper rifle with darts as the ammo."

"No, no. Somehow he'll steal that shock lance and turn it on them."

"Way too easy man. Oh! Maybe he'll steal that bag, fashion a slingshot, and snipe them with it!"

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Jim Raynor took a swig of his glass of bourbon as various people hypothesized how Tychus and Ariel were going to be defeated in this scenario since being lured to hangar twelve, a storage hangar containing spare parts and the like, with the power cut off at the breaker. The television screen was diverted from its normal function to relay the live feed from the cameras in the hanger, which in all actuality wasn't much since the only thing illuminated in the darkness was Tychus by the glow of the shock lance and whatever the floodlights hardwired into his suit picked up as he continued his search.

In a mild thought, the cantina would probably be much fuller in patrons and observers if a decent measure of the Raiders hadn't went planet side to Redstone III (3) for a contract.

"Someone's going to get killed eventually," he mused as he took another sip of his beverage of choice, for the moment at least. Though in truth it was more of a rhetorical statement, the escalation that had been going on for the past month did not bode well...

An intervention was going to be needed before someone was seriously hurt.

XVX

Hangar Twelve

"Hmph!" The set of lights snapped to where Doctor Hanson stood a moment after the bag she held slammed into the floor. Floodlights searched the corridor of containers followed shortly by searching along the edges of said corridor when the doctor's muffled screeching permeated the air alongside the dispensing, and application, of duct tape.

"Told her this was a one man job," Tychus mumbled as Ariel continued to shout in indignity with a hand over her mouth that was freed for but a second before the duct tape muted her. "Now how we gonna do this?" he lowly asked as he slowly back up to a more open space, all the while trying to ignore Doctor Hanson as she struggled against her sticky bonds in the dark.

The resounding 'clack' of one the lights coming to life jolted the marine to twisting around with his stun rifle at the ready to find a halo of light illuminating a pedestal holding aloft a can of beer. "Oh I ain't falling for that junior," he grumbled aloud. By the time he noticed the horn part of an air horn peeking through the corner of his open visor, it was too late.

_BRRRRRRRRRRRT!_

"_GAAAAH!_" In his fright he fell to his back while his hand involuntary pulled the trigger to the rifle that in turn let loose a bolt of the pre-charged gun and depriving it of its ammo till it returned to its set power. "Aw damn it, real funny kid!" Tychus growled as he got back up. When on his feet again he immediately checked the LED display for the estimated time for the next shot to be ready to be used: An estimate of eighty-two seconds before he could knock out the ghost teen Raynor had for a comrade.

However from the fresh crackle of what sounded like another shock lance, it would seem those eighty-plus seconds were a bit too long for the war veteran's tastes. Without a second to be wasted, the convict broke into a strafe without bothering to look where he was going in a bid to escape.

Yet even Tychus with all his experiences, both confirmed and unconfirmed by those around him, knew he wouldn't be a match for a ghost in the dark...

"Agh!" Not to mention that unlike his own lance, the ghost's armament wasn't powered down for a precaution given the lack of a hardskin for protection. "Ah, damn it..." he weakly grumbled while crashing into the floor and having his shock lance confiscated by the teenager. "Can you at least hand me that beer before you go? A bendy straw while you're at it?"

"No straws available," the ghost rasped as he planted the bait beer within Tychus' sight as it was dully illuminated by the glancing indirect glow of a floodlight. "Feh..."

Now all Tychus had to do was await the eventual return of his control over his body after being robbed of it by the overloading of not only his suit but his nerves too.

XVX

Lab, forty-four minutes later

"You know, I wouldn't be too suprised if one of you two will end up killing the other by accident if this keeps up," Raynor commented as he peeled off the tape keeping Ariel from speaking.

"Ah!" she gasped in mild pain as she worked her jaw about to ensure her lips were still attached to her face. "Well we wouldn't be doing this if he was considerate enough to come up and take his exam!" she defended herself just short of a growl while the commander of the Raiders worked on the rest of her bindings as she sat in a chair. Her hands were quickly freed next.

"Oh I know, just its more likely to see Char have a sudden ice age than to see the kid go for a checkup," Jim replied in a small chuckle.

"I hardly find it amusing Commander," Ariel admonished with a slight narrowing of her eyes.

"Be that as it may, it's true. Even..." Raynor suddenly seized himself slightly in a slight grimace before he continued. "People he was close to found that task monumental Doc." He almost chuckled once more once the exasperated, yet restrained in its tired nature, sigh escaped Doctor Hanson. "Is there a particular reason he's so... infuriated in this regard then?" she queried. "None that I know of," Raynor replied once more as he freed her duct tape bound feet. Once more a sigh exhausted sigh left the woman as she leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes.

They only opened once more when the commander took her hand and planted what felt like a USB device in her palm. "What's this?" she asked as she confirmed what she felt. It was a small device, obviously an older model of the data storage device if its bulky and weathered nature was to be an indicator. "The only way to end this little war between you two," Raynor smoothly replied as he got up and leans against the wall, a hand dug into his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. "Look in the Lost Colony section, should be the second to last from the bottom."

With a confused frown, the doctor plugged in the device into a nearby computer and swiveled to directly look at a revived screen as it acknowledged the newest addition to the mainframe. In the psan of a few seconds, a small screen appeared on the screen bearing the colors of the old Confederacy that the Dominion now occupied in its position as a government and power in the sector. Immediately after a moment of rest the whites, reds, and blues of the page gave way to a deep orange rectangular screen with a black background with various listings of notes, psychological evaluations that were years out of date, code names of various experiments, and several tabs for... candidates and their histories, both personal and medical, for what was labeled as "Project Phantom." Her frowned only deepened as she acquiesced to Raynor's suggestion and dove into the candidate area marked as "Lost Colony."

"You know I heard about these "Lost Colonies," but frankly I always thought there were just... theories at best regarding the missing carrier."

"They're real," Jim calmly replied as he lit his current vice. "The only reason the Dominion hadn't try to exploit them as well was when Phantom had to be terminated and its data eliminated to hide the evidence. In other words the Dominion have no idea where they are other than rumors and speculation, neither of which they can freely pursue with all that's been going on before now."

With an even deeper frown she scrolled down the list, idly noting a a name here and there andnwhat planet they came from that surely wasn't registered by either the Dominion nor the Confederacy when it was in power. But then again, if her growing dread was correct...

"Why was the project shut down?" A pause ensued between the two of them as the Raider's commander took a drag from the cigarette. "Depends on who you ask. All I know about the project other than its purpose to incite the ability to yield psionic powers in people that weren't born that way, they couldn't handle the kids they kidnapped through their more standard means of control. I imagine that after so many went off the rails between their experiments to enforce loyalty, they deemed the project too dangerous to continue. Of course..." Immediately Raynor quieted down as he grimaced as he tried to make a... fact known to her despite his distaste.

A darker grimace crossed the features of Hanson as she slowed down her scrolling to take a more detailed look at some of the 'candidates.' "It also seemed to produce a high mortality rate among those they experimented on..."

"Yeah..." he said somberly.

Finally she reached the bottom and peered at the second to last image and its name. "That smile's forced," she noted quietly.

"You found it then... think it would be enough to suit your needs for his medical history?"

"Yes..." she replied shyly. Giving her a heavy nod in return, James Raynor departed his spot on the wall and made to leave the laboratory.

"One question though." Stopping short of the now opened doorway, he peered over his shoulder at the brown haired doctor. "How did you come across this?"

With a sigh, he took another drag before removing the unhealthy vice from his lips before giving her his full attention. "Believe it or not," he started, "he was much more introverted than he is today to the point where he could only open himself up to one person... Fearing for him in the event that she died, she entrusted that USB to me so I can look after him to the best of my ability."

Reluctantly Doctor Hanson returned her to the screen within a screen with ever disheartened motives where a sense of zealously once possessed her. "Seven years old..." she quietly mumbled.

**A/N: And now, for something not entirely different.**

**Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds.**

Extra! Supercarriers and Rory Swann

Armory, Hyperion

"If I may ask sir, what are you looking at?" Looking over his shoulder, Rory Swann spotted the same newbie from before and sighed in mild exasperation. "Aren't you suppose to be taking inventory for Kachinsky?"

"All done sir!" she answered with an all too cheery smile for his tastes as she handed him the datapad used for the task. He could only mildly shake his head at that as he accepted the tablet before returning his attention to his roost's console and all its glory. "Still, I'm curious as to what you're interested in." With a drawn out sigh he finally relented after jabbing a few buttons.

"I've been trying to find a use for them Hercules cargo ships we have lying around in the other bays that almost never see any action at all, and in hopes of finding inspiration I been poking around the records for older model ships for ideas." Peering past him, the technician managed to sneak a good look at the screen. "The Supercarriers? Don't you think that's a bit too far back to look, sir?"

A snort escaped the chief engineer as he returned to his attention to what passed off as blueprints to the colossal relics of the past. "I wouldn't be the first person in history to find something useful by looking into the past," he countered as he perused the material available to the masses. "Would help me out a lot more if we were able to find one of these titans intact. Hell, just point me to an actual blueprint and I'd probably do a jig while singin' in the girliest voice I have in my repertoire."

"With all due respect sir, weren't they all repurposed after the Long Sleep? Or rather scrapped to build the foundations of society as we know it?" A snort escape Rory once again as his mood became more dour. "Yeah... save for one at least."

"Pardon?"

With revived spirits, the console was repurposed to list the names of the original carriers. "The Reagan drifted off to Umoja. The Argo built Moria. And the Nagglfar was the foundation of Tarsonis. However there were _four_ carriers that arrived here in the Koprulu Sector, and no one has an idea as to where the Sarengo went while the others settled down. Hell, it was the disappearance of the Sarengo that originally gave birth to the rumors of the Lost Colonies."

A disgruntled sigh escaped the younger technician with a slight hanging of her head. "I heard of them too... my little brother won't shut up about finding those myths-"

"They're real," Rory interjected with the same attitude as discussing the weather with an acquaintance.

"Huh?"

"I'll admit, I thought they were a load of crock too when I heard it but some people from them somehow find their way into the sector by some means. Mostly prisoners from pirate raids or some kind of curious adventurer finding a working crashed ship are the ones that end up here. When I first met one I thought I was dealing with some sort of nut job caught up in role-playing or something..."

"What happened?"

"Well," he started as he turned around to face her with his only good hand scratching the back of his head. "One day, back on Meinhoff, before the commander showed up and our... revolution, some weirdo came bursting into our operation and caused a commotion about dragons and the like. In hopes of pacifying the guy I snuck up behind him with a wrench and took a whack at him before he or someone ended up callin' them _Kel-Morians_ down on us. Didn't work. Now pissed off, this guy starts waving a stick about chanting some sort of nonsense and the next thing I know there's some sort of rock-men climbing out of the woodwork, smashing our equipment, and attacking everyone they could get their hands on while the guy somehow starts firing fireballs at us! Frankly, that was the _only_ time I had ever felt relieved to have those Kel-Morian thugs storming into the place with guns blazing."

"You're kidding me," she deadpanned.

"Nope. In any event, I found out there were other terrans living outside of the sector. The only question remains is that are they from the Sarengo, whose location is unknown amongst other things, or if our ancestor's home wasn't the only place terrans originated from. Of course if these guys did come from the Sarengo, then I'm curious as to how they got these abilities."

"If there are... adventurer's, how come I never heard of them?"

A scoff left Rory. "Like my guy's case, most don't tend to survive long thanks to the big adjustments they have to go through from small planet lacking technology to a galaxy full of things that can make your head spin off your neck if you let it. I've seen it happen enough times to form that theory at least."

"Anything else you'd like to know, rookie?" he suddenly asked.

"Uh... no. Not at the moment anyway."

"Good, Now get to Hangar Twelve. Apparently the breaker in there been fried in that mix up between Tychus and the kid."

"Aw..." she groaned as she trudged away to get the nearest toolbox.

**(Round 2) A/N: I would like to note that I have no real understanding of the medicinal field, so if by rights Kachinsky should've died or not after having several tranquilizer darts shoved into him then I have no clue.**

**As for the Lost Colonies, basically this came from my own interpretation of a precursory read on the Supercarriers of the StarCraft universe which brought the humans to the Koprulu sector to begin with. I'll admit, my original understanding of it lead me to believe that one carrier went missing where in truth it actually crashed into Umoja and killed off its original occupants. Might as well repurpose that!**

**Monkeybandit2, (once again) making off with your attention! No refunds.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own, in any aspect that entitles dominion (not the Mengsk kind at least) of any variation, Naruto nor Starcraft.**

**Wish I did though...**

**Warning****: Contains swearing.**

They call me a Spectre

Chapter 5: Who lies behind the mask

_(Flashback!)_

New Wallis, Braxsus, three months later

**_POW!_**

And down it went with the same grace as a sack of bricks. Though given hills in various groupings, the concept of a mountain was almost alien to those who had lived on the grassy plains that dominated most the planet. The only reason they stayed green throughout the seasons that marked Braxsus was due to the underground rivers that coursed through the continents interconnected by a series of natural bridges where the mountains seemed to only exist. Given its conditions, it was only to be expected that the majority of this world's mammals were suited to the plains by either their girth or by their speed as evolution allowed, unfortunately that applied to both the predators as well as their prey.

The most common threat, and debatably the most dangerous as geneticists continued to argue over projected courses of evolution where agriculture was concerned (both in producing more and keeping threats at bay), was the creature known as Volves since the name stuck to it from origins unknown. Sleek wolves with teeth of a shark and the same ability to reproduce lost teeth, not to mention having the ability to regenerate lost limbs much like a gecko and its tale provided they haven't lost an exorbitant amount of blood beforehand. They were in fact smaller than earthborn wolves in all dimensions which only aided them in speed and evasion, yet with a lower constitution they also traveled in larger packs than the earthborn variant. But every now and then a relative giant was born amongst their kind with a marked increase in aggression to make up for the relative loss for speed…. Though these larger volves present little threat to the free ranged denizens of Braxsus, it was the farming communities that was under threat from these creatures when the livestock and even ranchers fell victim to their vicious jaws that were empowered by the larger muscle mass that attributed to their greater health. With a recent emergence of this type of volve now laying siege to several communities it was only expected for the aptly named beast slayers of the Confederacy to be deployed to wipe out this strain of animal on the small, near island sized continent of Newack.

"That's the last one," Frankfurt drawled.

"Boo!"

"Hiss!"

"Bored!"

A heavy sigh filtered through the suit of the firebat variant of the hardskin. Twenty-three kills by Omega squad's hands… and they stilled complained….

His attention swiveled to the lone ghost of the group as he beamed with pride as he lovingly loaded a fresher magazine into his canister rifle. The triplets came through alright regarding the finer points of a ghost's equipment, as to how would forever be beyond him to a comfortable degree, in less than a month before now for the sake of discretion… and so far he had gotten nowhere on his own investigation. Inquiries as to why a child was now a squad member were obviously going to be shot down, he determined that a long time ago since the Ghost Academy was not an institution to let their secrets loose so easily given its involvement as to the ghost's assignment to this team. Equipment failure however was an issue he can press with the government for his backing. Ghosts weren't cheap to train and maintain after all.

"We're sorry, he had not reported to the armory as requested before deployment." Only one thought coursed through the sergeant's head that day, "Bull." It seemed like a few of the higher ups had a likewise opinion when word reached him that a investigation was underway at the Academy; rapid deployment in this day and age rarely gave anyone a chance to change their current gear.

Regardless, a new suit and its corresponding equipment came through weeks later. The equipment itself, such as the visor for example, was still faulty however.

After so many weeks of finding the appropriate parts and guard duty, this was their first assignment with any element to an offense to it.

"Command to Omega. Command to Omega, come in."

"Omega here."

"New assignment: Amber squad is on a hill southeast of your position and needs reinforcements to clear out a den of those mutts."

"Roger that, Omega out."

"Kill score! Kill score! Kill score!"

"For the love of…" the sergeant groaned as he wearily restrained himself from palming his face with a powered hand which would most likely crack his helmet in the process as not three but _four_ voices chanted vigorously.

"You don't suppose we're allowed to keep a few of the volves for dinner do you?"

A lone eye twitched as the predictable storm came from the triplets…

"Oh! Let's have shish kabob!"

"Should we get the steak sauce?"

"You don't suppose sarge will cook it in pork fat do you?"

That did it…. A mechanized hand painted in a roaring flame tightly grasped a valve to his suit and slowly turned it counterclockwise while the arm it affected rose up, its nozzle hissing ominously.

"… RUN FOR IT!"

"HOLD STILL YA IDIOTS!"

"WHERE DID-… NO FAIR! HE'S USING HIS CAMO TO HIDE!"

"CHEATER!"

"WHY US?!"

"I'LL GET HIM LATER! HOLD STILL SO I'LL COOK _YOU_ IN PORK FAT!"

"YOU NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT BOSS!"

"GO TO A SPA!"

"I THINK THERE'S A CAT HOUSE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE, SARGE!"

_Fwoooosh!_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Denise merely shook her head as she witness the retreating forms of over half her squad mates. "Another day in paradise." With surprising expertise, her own mechanized hand reached out and nabbed a cloaked ghost from his hiding spot.

"Ack! I don't want to be cooked alive, Denise!" he cried through his synthesizer as his invisible hands raked small trenches in the dirt in a failing bid to escape.

"Don't worry… he's not fond of cooking people in pork fat to begin with."

"How is that helpful?!"

_(End Flashback!)_

XVX

Meinhoff, day

Infested terrans… it's been years since he or any of the other Raiders actually seen them in combat since the zerg essentially became dormant for so many years. They were walking nightmares of what was once a terran after the parasites that be took a hold and twisted their flesh and their minds to obey and serve without question… at least they weren't suicide bombers any more. The fact that they weren't able to withstand the UV output of Meinhoff's sun was also a welcome change for the Raiders as they deployed what they could to destroy the nearby structures that deployed near endless numbers of former terrans against them when night had set in. Marines, Firebats, freshly acquired Hellions, Reapers, and two ghosts even… however technical it was. Only one was truly loyal to the Raiders while the other was something else entirely…

And he wanted words with the Ghost of the Raiders….

Gabriel Tosh, a man rumored to be many things. His story was his own as well as his reasoning towards hiring, as well as helping, the Raiders in their missions be it his own design or whatever life had presented to them. The only thing that was a certified fact about him was that he was a ghost much like himself, the only differences between the two, that could be certified at least, being cosmetic and skill set. The latter however was only rumored in its listing of abilities as far as Tosh was concerned.

He was a dark skinned man with long dreadlocks that fell short from reaching his shoulders. His eyes were long since milked over as if he had been blinded by a wound that did not claim his eyes, yet they functioned as well as any other eye as they lorded over an unkempt mass of facial hair that dominated his face. His armor was custom made as far as the ghost could tell, for he hadn't encounter the make nor model in any Dominion or rogue's arsenal: His body suit was black along with the armor that went with it, though brighter due to the reflective properties of steel untreated in such a matter. His hands and forearms were protected, as was his chest, his waist by an in complete belt, and his legs in respective coatings of armor with the boots, raising up slightly to the outward side after stopping at the knee, taking the look of a more greave-like design than his armor. Like any other design of a ghost's suit, there were lines embedded into the suit to pulse whatever color programmed into it to prove that the power was on, Tosh's suit was maroon red in that regard as they followed the normal pattern of its predecessor with only one variation. His left shoulder bore the insignia of a triangle much like a King Cobra's head with its hood flared, with the pattern of a skull laying underneath the snake's 'head' while two of the lit lines trailed around it before disappearing into a gauntlet. A necklace of beads as well as another necklace featuring a wooden voodoo doll hung from his neck while bits and bobs of bones, both carved and left alone in terms of alteration from species unknown, were bound ho him by small strands of twine if not used as some other decoration.

What he wanted was unclear given that the ghost avoided him at every turn, even going so far as to hide behind Dr. Hanson, without her knowing about it over half the time, when the opportunity arose. Unfortunately the home field advantage was no longer in effect since he volunteered for this mission of search and destroy… alongside Gabriel Tosh soon after getting wind of this.

Now the only thing keeping the other ghost away was the fact that both were on separate teams destroying every structure and cocoon they could find till night came, much like it was doing right now. To make matters worse, for him at least, the collective ragtag teams had wiped out the north and northwest sections of the infested town with a slight fraying of the northeast. Chances were that he wasn't likely going to have guard duty as a valid excuse to avoid Tosh any further unless the zerg deployed more nydus worms on them like they did at Backwater…

XVX

Night

From a distance, the cries for ruin and revenge were as clear as diluted trumpets in the night as the host began its second march on the Raider compound. Bunkers have been made coupled with a few supply depots as an impromptu wall much like in Backwater Station to keep the thousands of claws and talons at bay, though bullets were another story. With a sizable section of what was once a town that surrounding the plateau that was the Raiders' compound, connected to the town by three bridges of a natural make, demolished after a sudden retaliation from the defenders once day broke, there wasn't as likely a chance for their numbers to breach the northwest bridge and its defenses… as proven as the sensor tower only detected a small trickle of once terrans trudging along the edge the chasm that helped defend the Raiders' base as opposed to the mass horde that gathered on the opposite side where the fire teams gathered to aid the bunker teams of the eastern side. Other than watching the southwestern passage from a raised platform, guarded only by debris that the original refugees had set up before the arrival of the freedom fighters/mercenaries, till proper defenses could be installed, the special operative was left nothing to do that could in any form guard him against Tosh's impending… meeting.

Already he could feel Tosh's presence leisurely stalking his way to the platform he now resided to ensure no sneak attack occurred. No one was going to get in his way if they could help it, not even Tychus when liquored up was willing to dare whatever power that lurked within him. A few notches below smashed he might, but not likely. The telltale signs of a leisurely stroll up the staircase that denied most of the personnel access due to the weight of their armor or were too bulky to begin with only served to remind him of how cornered he was unless he jumped down and brave the night soon after.

"You know, I'm startin' to think you don't want to talk to me now with all this runnin' about." Despite the chuckle of a non-insidious nature that went with it, every muscle within the ghost's body slowly tensed to its peak when that accented voice of a tropical origin crept through the air with the same measure of off putting strangeness that few men dared to communicate with. "Now, now. I'm ain't here to cause ya grief, mister Uzumaki."

A smug smirk split itself upon Gabriel's features as the younger ghost turned to him in the same fashion as a man hoping what doom that approached him was a hoaxed created by his own mind…

XVX

Laboratory, Hyperion

"Blood type O Positive," Doctor Hanson mumbled as he typed away at the keyboard for her records. "Entered surgery once to remove birthmarks…" She had been long since forced from the bridge by Matt Horner given her own connection considering her connections to the refugees below. The only reason she hadn't protested was that she could agree with his reasoning, "You're too close to them." She was no soldier, and a façade of a scientist detached from a subject could only last so long… all she could do was attend to the work she had yet to perform as accurately as it should have been.

"EGGHEAD!" Her scowl upon striking a wrong key went unnoticed by Rory Swann as he stormed into the laboratory with nothing but a scowl and a strangled monkey wrench in his grasp which he pointed threateningly at the only other scientist in the room whom quickly drawn a curtain to protect two stasis tanks from common view in a mixture of practiced protocol and nerve wracked panic upon the barking of his moniker. He was a man in his early twenties with neatly combed hair rose up and stayed together with the help of hair gel. He was dressed in a lab coat much like Ariel constantly worn, yet his garb was more of a worker's assortment of garments that held some of the scientific necessities in its bands rather than a gray sweater and a brown knee length skirt under the professional's coat. Swann's monkey wrench only stopped but less than an inch away from yellow safety glasses. "I said it before and I'll say it again: Leave the Hyperion's _maintenance_ to me and my guys. Thanks to you the entire left half of the ship lost communications." A nervous gulp, an equally queasy laugh, and a shaky raising of the hands in defeat did nothing to alleviate the chief engineer's mood if the squinty-eyed death glare was an indication.

The doctor only shook her head as she returned to her work with the clear and obvious intent of ignoring the two. "In need of psychiatric help when possible," she mumbled once more as she written into the notes section of her medical journal. "Hey! I may not be as "cultured" as you two may want me to be, but I get along fine enough. It's when someone goes messin' with the ship that makes me difficult," Rory countered with the turning if his head to give the doctor a piece of his mind while keeping his stance. Though with the lowered guard, he wasn't able to discern that Egon Stetmann was slowly creeping away while the burly one-armed man was pointedly ignored in order to complete a medical file. "Now I just need an up to date headshot to complete this…"

Blinking and pocketing his wrench, the chief engineer wandered to a respectable view of the screen which the volunteered doctor vested so much interest in. "Naruto Uzumaki?" he drawled. Squinting and bringing up his only hand in a pinching the smiling face of blond haired child a few years younger than a teen, effectively blocking out a total of six whisker marks that adorned his cheeks. "Huh… so _that's_ his name." The assertive, pronounced strike of a punctuation marked the end of the current flurry of key strokes on Ariel's behalf as she slowly turned to face a somewhat confused Rory Swann.

"Are you saying that throughout your time here, you have yet to learn his name?" Her eyes matched the same sense of incredulousness that laced her tone of voice. The engineer nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders in return. "Never asked, never gave. Just about everyone called him "kid" and the like when I got here, never once took offense to that as far as I knew. If anyone knew his real name, it was the commander and the captain."

The skeptical stare did not lose its edge as she pointedly moved her slipping glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

XVX

Meinhoff, night

The roar of gunfire, flamethrowers, and the screams of the dying infested terrans filled the night in droves that sometimes lapped over one another with ease. It mattered little however to one ghost in shock. "How-?" A low chuckle from the dark skinned man halted him, though whether that was the intended effect or not was unclear, yet the opening wasn't missed by the older of the pair.

"While ya ain't exactly famous by legitimate means, your name isn't unheard of thanks to your abilities nor is it forgotten by those who knew ya back then." Something of a devious grin creased itself upon himself as an already tense body pushed itself to a near mimicry of rigor mortis despite his living state, and it wasn't lost when he picked up the latent sense of aggression towards unsaid implications he had no part in but relished nevertheless. "While some still cling to whatever grudge they have against ya, it seems that the fates gave me the fortune of only associating me self with those who have a more…" the grin took an odder turn at the pause, "_favorable_ view of ya."

"_What_ _do you want_?" Even with a mask with a buitl in synthesizer, Gabriel could sense the terse nature of the question if his psychic aura wasn't enough to tell his mood. Regardless, his grin was of a much darker nature now. "To finish the job with Mengsk," he replied lowly with an ease that was as rehearsed as it was true. His grin never faded, in fact grew in satisfaction when a literal spike arose from the younger ghost in both mood and the psionic level as his senses could tell.

"_That_ doesn't answer my question…" Easily the urge to shake his head in sheer amusement as he mused only to himself: "Angry enough to rip a legion apart and yet he can still see an evasion of a question." Another chuckle had to be restrained as well lest he set the younger one off by accident. "Be that as it may, it _is_ the truth. Unfortunately someone like him ain't gonna go down by one man's hands. No, I'm gonna need all the help I can get, and I ain't the only one Mengsk made an enemy out of over the years." Again a spike rose, more gradually than the first by comparison, from the teen in front of him in a magnitude that the ground vibrated as a side effect. "I know you and Mister Raynor want him dead as much as I do if not worse."

The two stared at each other intently with their own reasoning and their own disposition firmly set. The grin finally turned to a smirk after a long moment of silence, and the man who wore it finally turned to leave the same way he came. "Talk to me if you're interested in hearing me out, preferably when you're less… agitated." He had no response for Tosh as he descended the stairs, merely content enough to turn around to resume his original duty to find a veritable wall of the infested lumbering towards the barricade. Were they drawn in by the psychic call that the zerg seemed to be fascinated by? Probably.

"Day break in thirty seconds." The Adjutant was simply ignored in favor of tightly grasping the rifle in hand, taking aim, and letting loose pent up hostility…

XVX

The smirk took a darker turn as wave after wave of psionic energy assailed his senses as a horde of what was once terrans, now twisted into shambling creatures of nightmares bearing claws and other such weaponry of the zerg in their misshapen flesh, took the brunt of a freshly reawakened anger that often lay dormant till provoked. Oh how he wished to see the destruction first hand as to better gauge what Naruto Uzumaki could do with his one of a kind power, yet even he knew he was taking a chance of being turned into a target after riling him up… hacking into a computer to witness the now current results would be more than enough to satisfy him for the time being.

The ability to mold this "chakra" with psionic energies to unleash not only whatever powers it entails but to unleash more devastating forces upon one's foes… he could almost say it was a shame that Project Phantom could produce only one with his ability while others were stuck to the more archaic means that divided one's attention. Again, he could _almost_ say it if it were not for some parallels between Phantom and Shadow Blade. Then there was personal history as well…

They may come from different roads, he, Naruto Uzumaki, and James Raynor, but they were all the same at the end. They had a job to do, and nothing was going to stop them from completing it.

XVX

Bridge, Hyperion

Day break had already washed away the seemingly endless army of infested that attacked the compound and the now bolstered forces of the Raiders that poured out in retaliation…

The projected course of attack was to start at the northeast and work their way south where their specialist was now rampaging for lack of a better word. But that's not worried the captain of the Raider's flagship, not entirely at least. Matt already sent a squad to ensure that nothing unexpected happened to him, or worse yet he was caught in the event he wasn't even capable of defending himself from exhaustion…

But that's what worried Matt, he didn't get like this without something to antagonize him. Already Matt had pulled up a screen at the holo-table, switched it to a two dimensional view of the battlefield, and reviewed the movements for all the units on the ground for the past few minutes before day break since the actual cameras for such a job were too focused on the defenses that were being attacked. Surprised, expected, annoyed, perhaps a combination of all three were what manifested inside the captain as he learned that Tosh seemed to occupy the same vicinity of Naruto for the span of three minutes. Plenty of time to get someone worked up over something, anything. But what?

A gloved finger gently tapped the edge of the gilded table in thought. "What are you playing at, Tosh?"


End file.
